


The Beaten and the Damned

by humblepirate



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, First Kiss, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2020-07-19 03:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19967185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humblepirate/pseuds/humblepirate
Summary: Klaus can see ghosts, and Reader likes to play in the cemetery. When they meet during one of Klaus's training sessions in the mausoleum, they instantly become friends. But children grow up, and parents are assholes, and nothing can ever stay the way it once was.





	1. I'm Not a Hero

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is going to be a childhood friends-to-lovers fic following Klaus and the reader from childhood to the events of the show. Content will be liberally picked and chosen from both the show and the comic, because fuck consistent canon.
> 
> Tags will be updated as the story progresses so please pay attention in case there is any material that you may find triggering!! There will be some pretty heavy content in later chapters, so be warned. For now, I hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Do or die, you'll never make me  
>  Because the world will never take my heart.  
> Go and try, you'll never break me  
> I'm unashamed, I'm gonna show my scars. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I am an edgy bitch who titles all my works after song lyrics, what of it! Honestly this song is such a KLAUS song I heavily debated which lyrics to use; ultimately it came down to a battle between "I'm just a boy, I'm not a hero" and "And through it all, we'll carry on" because they're both so very him!!! (All the UA members really.) Ultimately I went with the former because even though it's not as hopeful, I feel like it kind of conveys the picture of Klaus as a literal ten-year-old child who isn't ready to become a hero.
> 
> Also yes I know that the lyrics in the summary are not in order. That was on purpose. Don't come for me!!

You’re not a parent, so you don’t really have room to tell other people what to do with their kids. But you’re pretty sure that forcing them to spend hours alone in a mausoleum while they scream and beg to be let out isn’t a nice thing to do to anyone, especially your own son.

For half a year you’ve watched them go through this routine. They show up almost every time you’re playing in the cemetery. The man looks like all his hair decided to migrate from the top of his head to his chin and eyebrows, and the monocle makes him look like the bad guy from a cartoon. Sometimes you see him leave in his fancy black limo, other times he waits outside while leaning on a walking stick and checking his pocket watch every couple of minutes. You don’t play near the mausoleum on the days he sticks around.

The boy who’s always with him is about your age, skinny and weirdly pale- maybe from how much time he spends locked up in the dark. He’s always wearing a neat gray private school uniform, though it doesn’t look at all like the uniforms you see other children in the city wearing. 

In all the time you’ve watched him, you don’t think you’ve seen him smile once. He’s usually crying. He screams and begs his dad not to make him go (you only know the man with the monocle is his dad because the boy calls him that; the man only ever calls the boy “Number Four”, which is a terrible thing to name your child). On days when the man gets in his limo and leaves, and you’re feeling brave enough to get close to the mausoleum, you can hear the boy screaming for his dad in between loud sobs. By the time the man returns and finally lets him out, his face his bright red and wet with tears. You want to call out to him, but you’re afraid his dad would see you and stop bringing him around.

Today is one of those days where the man decides to leave as soon as he closes the doors. You sit down in the dry brown grass next to the mausoleum and listen to him yelling. Your own throat hurts from how hard he’s yelling. For many long minutes you picture yourself throwing open the mausoleum doors and rescuing him like his very own superhero, but your hands stay stuck in fists at your sides. You’re too much of a wuss to actually do it.

“No, please! Please leave me alone! I don’t want to, please-”

His voice cuts off with a rough scream that fades into a sob. Your heart hurts listening to him. Your fingers shake with their want to soothe him, wipe away his tears and tell him it will all be okay. They uncurl from their fists and press against the cool stone doors.

“Please don’t hurt me- p-please, I can’t- help! Someone help me!”

You jump up and stretch on your tiptoes to look through the tiny window in the door, but the glass is so dusty and it’s so dark in there that you can’t see a thing. Your hands jump to the handle of the heavy stone door, but you stop yourself from opening it. If his dad came back and saw that it was open, he might try to punish the boy, but you don’t want to close it behind yourself in case you get locked in.

“Leave me alone! Leave me alone, please! Somebody help-”

Your heart makes the choice for you. The handle is almost as tall as your head, but you grab it in both hands and pull as hard as you can. Your arms hurt from the effort, but you keep pulling and pulling until you’ve opened it enough to slip inside.

He’s curled up in a corner with his knees tucked to his chin and his arms covering his head, like he’s trying to protect himself from something. The room is smaller than your bedroom at home and the air is cool and full of dust. It smells like the time you tried to keep a bunch of pet ladybugs in a box and they all died. The walls are made of drawers with metal handles, and you realize that those must be where all the bodies are kept. Now that you’re here, all your daydreams about bravely rescuing this boy who you don’t really know fly back out the open door. It’s too late to turn around and go, though, so you try to think about all the things you’ve imagined saying to him, and finally decide on one.

“Number Four is a really weird name.”

He looks up like you’d shouted at him, though you’d tried to keep your voice low so you didn’t scare him. His eyes are bright red and the skin around them is puffy and wet. He wipes his face on his sleeve and sniffles quietly.

“It’s not my real name,” he replies.

You tilt your head curiously. “What is your real name, then?”

“Why should I tell you?” He rubs his eyes and frowns at you. “No one else is supposed to be in here. Technically, you’re trespassing.”

“I was playing in the cemetery and heard you yelling. I thought you were in trouble.” It’s not  _ really _ a lie. You decide not to add that you’ve been secretly watching him for six months.

His cheeks grow even pinker when you say that. “I wasn’t  _ scared _ or nothin’. Only babies are scared of the dark,” he sniffs.

You sit on the floor next to him and fold your legs. “There’s nothing wrong with being scared, you know. I get scared all the time.”

He looks at you with a mix of suspicion and interest. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hm. I was even scared to come in here. But I still did it,” you say proudly.

He wrinkles his nose and kicks a rock across the floor. “Why?” he asks. “You don’t even know me.”

You hold out a hand and tell him your name like you’ve seen your parents do to people they haven’t met before. “There, you know my name. Now if you tell me yours, we won’t be strangers anymore.”

He pauses, eyeing your hand like it might jump up and bite him, but after a few seconds he reaches out and shakes it. “Klaus. My real name is Klaus,” he says.

You grin brightly. “Nice to meet you, Klaus.” You sound like a grown-up on TV and it’s really weird, but you kinda like it.

He drops your hand and the suspicion comes back to his face. “So, how did you know my name? My number name.” He squints at you. “Are you spying on me or somethin’?”

Embarrassment creeps onto your face. “Not  _ exactly _ ,” you say. He sits up suddenly, looking at you like you just stole his favorite toy. “Not in a creepy way!” you yell. “I just like to play in the cemetery a lot, and you’re very loud so it’s not like I can  _ ignore _ you.”

He shakes his head. “You are so weird,” he mutters.

You stick your tongue out at him. “You’re the one who spends all your time locked in a mausoleum by yourself,” you reply.

His face falls, and you immediately wish you hadn’t said anything. He hugs his knees to his chest and you can see new tears in the corners of his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly. “It’s totally normal to be afraid of the dark-”

“It’s not that.”

You hold your breath and wait for him to talk.

“Do you…” He turns to you. “Have you ever seen things that aren’t there?”

You shake your head.

He takes a quiet breath. “Well, I do. I see… really scary things.”

“What do you mean?”

He turns to look at you, and your heart hurts when you see how close he is to crying again.

“Promise you won’t freak out?” he whispers.

You hold out your hand with your pinky out. “Pinky promise,” you say.

He tilts his head and his nose wrinkles in confusion. You realize that if his dad makes him spend this much time by himself, he probably doesn’t have anyone to teach him what a pinky promise is. You carefully take one of his hands and wrap your pinky around his.

He looks back down at his feet, but his body seems a little bit more relaxed. “Ever since I was a baby,” he says, “I can see… ghosts.”

He squeezes his eyes closed and frowns, like he’s waiting for you to hit him or something. When you don’t say anything for a little while, he peeks one eye open at you.

“Why aren’t you leaving?” he asks.

You shrug. “Why should I? That’s the coolest superpower ever!”

He digs the toe of his fancy shoe into the stone floor. “I’ve never told anyone besides my family. My father says that people would think I’m a freak,” he whispers.

He rests his head on one knee, and you see a tear trickle down his cheek. Your hands twitch again like they want to touch him and make him feel better, but you think that would be too weird, so you just awkwardly pat the top of his shoe.

“I don’t think you’re a freak,” you tell him. You give him a wide smile. “Grown-ups think they know everything about the world, but they don’t know as much as they think they do.”

He sniffles, and you can see him smile a little bit. “My father thinks he  _ really _ knows everything. He’s a scientist,” he says.

“Well, he obviously has never heard of the Golden Rule,” you say, “because that means we have to treat others the way we want to be treated. It’s the first thing they teach you in kindergarten.”

He lifts his head and squinches his eyebrows. “What’s a kindergarten?”

Your mouth drops open. “Haven’t you gone to kindergarten?”

He shakes his head.

“How do you even go to school, then?”

He looks down at his feet. “Me and my brothers and sisters are homeschooled.”

“Lucky.” You poke his arm. “Your dad makes you wear a uniform at home, too?”

“Mm-hm. We’re not allowed to wear anything else. Even for pajamas.”

“Do you shower in them too?”

He looks at you like you just grew three heads. “No! That would be weird,” he says.

“Weirder than seeing ghosts?”

You’re afraid you might have upset him again, but he smiles. “Fair enough.”

You look around the room at the dusty old drawers full of bodies. “So,” you say, “are there any ghosts in here right now?”

He sits up straighter and looks around slowly. “Not anymore,” he tells you. He squints at you again. “How’d you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make them stop.” He scoots closer to you. “Are you a sorcerer or something?” His eyes get wide. “Or a demon!”

“I would probably know if I was a demon,” you giggle, “but if I start seeing ghosts too, I’ll let you know.”

The sound of an engine rumbling outside makes you both jump. Klaus suddenly looks terrified.

“My dad is back! You have to go,” he whispers.

Your heart starts beating quickly. Your legs are too scared to move. Then Klaus shoves you forward, and you jump up and start running. The door is still open a little bit and through it you can see the scary monocle man getting out of his limo.

It’s too late to run or he’ll definitely see you. You pull the door closed as quickly as you can and hide in the closest corner.

It’s so quiet in the mausoleum that you can hear your own heart running in your ears. Then the door creaks open, and a huge shadow blocks the daylight coming through.

“Have you overcome your fear, Number Four?”

Klaus sniffles and sits up straighter. “Y-yes, sir. I’m trying.”

“Demonstrate for me.”

Klaus starts to look scared again. “D-demonstrate?” he says.

The shadow points a thick finger at the mausoleum wall. “Prove to me that you have conquered your weakness. Reanimate one of those bodies.”

Klaus looks at you for a short moment and you give him a smile. Then he closes his eyes, clenches his hands into fists, and scrunches his face up like he’s concentrating really hard. You hold your breath, waiting for something to happen.

The air in the mausoleum is dusty and silent. The monocle man’s shadow stands as still as a gravestone.

Suddenly, one of the drawers starts to shake. With a loud  _ crash! _ , the stone breaks into pieces and clatters to the ground. A horrible smell fills the room, like something you’ve never smelled before. Klaus opens his eyes and smiles when he sees the black square that had been hidden behind the stone.

Then his smile disappears. He takes a step back and throws his hands up to protect himself. You squint at the darkness but you can’t see anything in the shadows.

“Stop! Leave me alone! Don’t come any closer… I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he screams. Tears start to spill over his cheeks again.

His father bangs his walking stick on the stone floor and Klaus stumbles back. He hits the wall behind him and sinks to the floor, shaking with sobs.

“Most disappointing, Number Four. Most disappointing.”

The man makes a tsk-tsk and his shadow disappears from the doorway.

Klaus turns to you, tears streaking his face. “I tried. I tried,” he cries.

You quickly cross the room and sit down next to him, putting an arm around his shoulders. “It’s okay. Don’t be sad. You did your best, Klaus,” you tell him. You realize that you’re starting to cry too.

He leans his head against your shoulder and sniffles. “I hate him,” he whispers.

You rub a hand over his arm. “Your dad’s an ass.” It’s your first time saying a swear word, and it feels good.

He sits up straight, looking at you with surprise, before he gives you a bright smile. “You’re right,” he says, “he is an ass.”

Klaus stands up and brushes the dust off his shorts. He holds out a hand to help you up. “I have to go,” he tells you. “I’ll cover for you so you can sneak away without him seeing.”

“Thanks.” You let him pull you up, but don’t let go of his hand. He raises an eyebrow at you.

“Klaus…” you say. “I think you’re really nice.”

“I think you’re nice too.” He smiles.

“Would you like to maybe…” You can feel your cheeks get hot with embarrassment. “Would you wanna be my friend?”

His smile is the biggest you’ve ever seen. “Sure. We’re friends now.”

He glances at the mausoleum door. “I really do have to go, but maybe you can visit during my next training session?”

“Sure.” You grin.

“Come along, Number Four.”

Klaus flinches at the sound of his dad’s voice. He squeezes your hand before turning to the door. “Coming, sir!” he calls. He winks at you over his shoulder, then walks out, leaving the door open just a crack for you to slip out.

You wait for the sound of the limo driving away before you leave the mausoleum and shut the door tight behind you. As you leave the cemetery and start down the sidewalk toward your home, you can’t help the giant smile stretching your mouth. You have a real, actual friend now, and he wants to be your friend too, and you’re going to visit him again soon. This might be the happiest day of your life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying to write the earlier chapters in a more simplistic style to evoke an atmosphere of childhood. I hope it came across that way, at least! The writing style will evolve with the story, I promise.
> 
> I've planned it to span from age nine, right before the Academy is introduced to the world, to age thirty, around the time of the Apocalypse That Wasn't. Each chapter will take place about two years apart, but don't worry so much about exact dates; canon is tenuous at best around these parts.
> 
> I'm taking each chapter title from a different song by My Chemical Romance. Both the work and the first chapter titles are from Welcome to the Black Parade. I thought it was fitting since that was such a seminal work for both the band and early 2000s emo music/culture, and kind of the "quintessential" MCR song. I often struggle with finding the right lyrics for chapter titles so if anyone has any suggestions, please feel free to throw them my way!
> 
> As far as updates, I have no set schedule for this one. I'm still working on the next chapter of Love Me Dead as well as another oneshot brewing around my WIP, so I don't want to commit to set updates, but I'll do my best to upload as soon as I finish writing! If you finish this chapter and are just thirsting for some more humblepirate content, I encourage you to check out my other works! If my TUA stuff doesn't satisfy your fancy, I also have a YouTube channel that you can visit here: https://bit.ly/2hf5Nob
> 
> FINALLY, if you have any feedback, constructive criticism, or just want to say hi, you're totally welcome to leave a comment below or message me on Tumblr at humblepirate! Thanks for reading and have a wonderful day :D


	2. Their Hearts Don't Beat Like Ours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _For every failing sun, there's a morning after  
>  Though I'm empty when you go.  
> I just wanted you to know  
> That the world is ugly,  
> But you're beautiful to me. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst ahoy!! General TW for really low self-esteem/thoughts of self-loathing. It has a happy twist though, don't fret!

Klaus doesn’t like to talk about his family. He’ll talk for  _ hours  _ about any other topic, but every time you mention his dad or his siblings he clams right up.

You have to collect the little bits of information that you can get out of him like lightning bugs in a jar. He’s adopted. He has two sisters and four brothers. They all have superpowers. Their dad makes them call him “The Monocle” or simply “sir”.

He gave them numbers in order of how useful they are to him. Klaus is Number Four. 

Fourth child. Fourth best.

Number one in your heart, you like to tell him, and he punches you in the arm with a goofy smile that he tries less and less to hide the more time you spend together.

You’d thought about telling your parents about him, but a small, hidden part of you kind of liked finally having a secret. It’s something that you’ve never gotten to have, since you don’t know anybody who would bother telling you one; you want to treasure it. Sometimes you think that maybe you’re being selfish, because if you tell your parents about how horribly Klaus’s father treats him then maybe they could do something to help. But you know, with all the wisdom of your ten years on this planet, that grown-ups can rarely help anyone.

And so you keep your first secret, your first friend, hidden along with all your other treasures.

The thing that changed the world happened several months after your first meeting with Klaus. It was a rainy Saturday morning, and rain meant no going outside (no going to the cemetery), so you were stuck inside and you were  _ bored _ . Your father was sitting in the living room reading his newspaper, and he likes to keep the TV on for background noise but he always leaves it on some dumb channel like the news which you are  _ not _ allowed to change. So you were trying to appear very interested in whatever boring story made the boring news in this stupid boring world, when the screen changed to a video of six small children hovering on top of the Eiffel Tower.

You thought you might have accidentally fallen asleep and started dreaming, but no, there they were- there  _ Klaus _ was- flying through the air like a real-life Peter Pan. You barely paid attention to the others. Then the Eiffel Tower was launched into space along with a murdered Zombie-Robot Gustave Eiffel, and the cameras were showing the inaugural class of the Umbrella Academy on a half-destroyed Paris street, and the scary man with the monocle who you’d seen lock one of his own children in a mausoleum to be tortured by ghosts was telling the world that their saviors had arrived.

You’d pointed to the screen and called to your parents, pressed your finger right against Klaus’s grainy face on the television because your friend, your  _ friend _ was on the news! You had an actual friend, and he was a real-life superhero!  _ Look look look! _

Your father had peeked over his newspaper just enough to give you a disapproving glare. Your mother had stepped out of the kitchen to tell you to be quiet when your father was reading, and don’t sit so close to the television or you’ll go blind.

You’d returned to your corner and continued to watch the news in silence.

When Monday came, all anybody could talk about was the Umbrella Academy. They were famous across the world, but especially in this noisy corner of American metropolis. Your own hometown heroes.

You’d stupidly tried to tell the others in your class that you were friends with one of them- Number Four, the Seance himself- but of course they just laughed at you. You hoped that everyone would just forget it and move on, but, in the way that children do, somehow the incident got out and by the end of the day, the entire school thought you were a friendless, lying, pathetic, dumb loser looking for attention.

Maybe they were right. Maybe Klaus had only agreed to be your friend because he felt bad for you, or because he was too polite to say no, and he had secretly gone home to his siblings and told them about the weird kid who hangs out in cemeteries and tried to be his friend. Now that he was famous, he’d have tons of real friends to hang out with, and he wouldn’t need to waste his time with a loser like you.

Maybe you deserved it for being dumb enough to think that anyone would want to be friends with  _ you _ .

You didn’t go to the cemetery for a while after that. You had convinced yourself that you had made everything up, and that there was no way a cool, world-famous superhero like Klaus Hargreeves would want to spend time with you. You pushed that particular thought to the back of your treasure chest along with the jar of fireflies, and you went on with your life.

It was almost a month before you saw him again. You were walking home after school and it had begun to rain, and you didn’t have an umbrella, and you were miserable. You had to pass by the cemetery to get home, and as you trudged down the street and tried really hard not to cry, you realized that it was coming up.

The cemetery spanned a whole block with the mausoleum sitting at the far end, so you had plenty of time to tell yourself to keep walking. It wasn’t far to your home, you could handle the rain for a few more minutes. You didn’t need to wait it out in a creepy, dusty old building full of dead people.

That’s what your brain told itself as you pushed open the creaky cemetery gate and went up to the mausoleum doors. They were as heavy as you remembered, the handles cold and slippery with the rain. You weren’t strong, but you could open them. You had always been able to open them before, knowing that he was waiting for you on the other side.

Klaus was already crying, his whole body shaking like a leaf. When you sat down next to him, he didn’t even notice you until you put a hand on his arm.

He jumped about a mile and let out a very high-pitched scream. Then he turned to you with his hand clenched into a fist like he was about to punch you, but when he realized who it was he dropped his arm and grabbed you in a hug instead.

You weren’t sure what you had thought he would do, but this definitely hadn’t been on the list. You awkwardly hugged him back, and when he pulled away, he was smiling like you were the sunshine after a terrible storm.

“I missed you,” he said with a sniffle.

You frowned. He must be trying to make you feel better; he probably heard about what people were saying to you at school and felt bad about it, since it was partly his fault. You just nodded like a weirdo and didn’t say anything.

His forehead wrinkled as he looked at you. “Are you okay? Did your parents ground you or something? I haven’t seen you in-”

“You don’t have to pretend anymore,” you said.

His mouth dropped open as he stared at you. “What? What are you talking about?”

“It’s okay. You don’t need to keep acting like you want to be my friend.” There was a huge lump in your throat as you stood back up. “I’ll leave you alone now. I just wanted to-”

“Hey!” He grabbed your arm and tugged you hard enough to make you fall back down. It hurt when you hit the ground and you yelled and scooched away from him.

He slapped a hand over his mouth and his eyes went wide. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I forget how weak other kids are.”

The lump was so big you could barely talk, and your eyes stung as they got ready to start crying again. “I know I’m not strong,” you sniffled. “I get it if you don’t want to hang out with me, but you don’t have to be a bully about it too.”

“No, that’s- that’s not what I…” He sighed and hung his head. “I’m sorry, ‘kay? I should have warned you that we were going to Paris. But we were only gone a week, and I haven’t seen you at all since I got back!”

You wiped your nose and tried not to let the tears come out. “You don’t need to say sorry to me. I should be saying sorry, for being…”  _ Weird. Annoying. Freak. Nuisance _ .

“What?” His face wrinkled up as he squinted at you in the low light. “I’m sorry for not telling you I was gonna be gone, and not telling you more about my family. But that doesn’t mean I don’t-” He paused, mouth opening and closing as he looked for the words. “...that I don’t want to be your friend.”

Your chest began to feel warm, and there was a feeling a lot like hope making your heart jump, but you were sure you weren’t hearing him right. He just felt bad for you, he didn’t care about you, he didn’t want-

“-things to be different,” he was saying, and you realized you hadn’t been entirely listening to him. “Sure, I’m famous now,” he continued, “but that doesn’t mean we have to stop seeing each other. My dad wants me to train even harder now that we’ve officially made our debut,” he wrinkled his nose, “so I’m gonna be coming out here a lot more.”

“And we can…” You swallowed hard. “We can still be friends?”

You were so scared, your heart was beating so fast you almost wished he would say no- 

He smiled. “Obviously,” he replied.

His smile was so bright and warm, it was impossible not to smile back. He held out a hand to you, and you took it, and the two of you sat talking until the rain stopped and the crunch of gravel under the tires came through the half-open door. Neither of you were ready to go back to the homes and the families that felt far less safe than the dark mausoleum, but it was okay, because you would see each other again soon.

Almost a year later, you can hardly believe that there was ever a time when you thought you and Klaus couldn’t be friends. Once school lets out for the summer, you are free to go to the cemetery every day. Sometimes you play games or explore other parts of the cemetery if you have time; over time, you even start to help him practice using his powers so his dad doesn’t get angry and stop hi from coming to the mauseoleum to train. Mostly, though, you sit in the mausoleum and talk about everything. He starts to open up more about his family, and you want to know it all.

He loves his siblings, but they all kind of see him as a nuisance. He’s closest to his brother Ben, who’s quiet and reads a lot but still pretty fun. When you say you’d like to meet him some time, Klaus starts happy-bouncing so hard you’re afraid he’ll hurt himself. You also find out that he has a mom who’s actually a robot, which is probably the coolest thing you’ve ever heard. Your tell him your mom acts like a robot most of the time, but she’s not hardly as nice.

It’s starting to drizzle now as you walk down the sidewalk toward the cemetery. Rainy days are your favorite, because Klaus likes to cuddle up against the chill and listen to the raindrops on the roof. You’d snuck a cozy blanket under your raincoat and your parents hadn’t even noticed. You can hardly wait to see him.

The cemetery gate groans as you push it open. You hurry up the gravel walkway and haul open the mausoleum door, which has started to feel a bit lighter every time you open it.

As soon as you open the door, a wave of noise crashes into you. There’s a honking and banging and shouting, and it takes you a second to realize that it’s all coming from Klaus.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU-” 

One hand is whacking a set of bongos while the other bangs out a tune on a children’s xylophone. He has a plastic kazoo in his mouth which makes an annoying, wheezing squeak every time he talks- or, really, sings, because he’s treating you to a horrible rendition of happy birthday with both his words and his kazoo at the same time. It’s kind of terrifying.

When he finishes his song, he spits out the kazoo and throws his hands up with a jazzy “Ta-daa!”

You look at him for a very long moment, not sure what exactly to say. Your own parents had forgotten your birthday- you would have forgotten it too, if it wasn’t for Klaus. You don’t even remember when you’d told him about it, though you remember every detail that he’s ever told you, so you’re not surprised he did too.

“Thank… you?” you finally say.

His arms drop to his sides and he sticks out his lip in a small pout. “You don’t like it?” he says softly.

You start to tell him no, you love it, you’d love anything he did because he’s your best (only) friend in the whole wide world and you could never be mad at him for anything, but you can’t get the words out through the lump of emotion pushing into your throat.

Klaus’s face crumples. “I knew it, I knew it was too much. Ben said I shouldn’t- ohh, I’m sorry,” he mumbles as he grabs up his instruments and throws them into a backpack. “I didn’t wanna make you cry on your birthday, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

You grab him by the arm and that makes him finally stop and look at you. His eyes are as green and wet as the ocean rolling against the docks, and he looks closer to crying than you are. You try to talk again, but it’s impossible, so instead you pull him into a tight hug.

He hugs you right back, burying his face in the side of your neck, and you can feel his tears damp on your skin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” You squeeze him, and the sorry’s disappear like fog.

He acts like he doesn’t want to let you go, but you have to stop hugging eventually, so you pull yourself away from him and give him a small smile. The lump is more or less gone and your head hurts from crying. The shoulder of his fancy uniform is wet with your tears and snot, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“I didn’t-” Your voice cracks and you stop to clear your throat. “I didn’t think you’d remember. No one…”

“No one ever does?” He gives you a sad smile. “Our dad never remembers our birthday either. The others think birthday parties are for babies. But I think it’s important to celebrate people, and you’re one of my favorite people. So…”

He sits down and you sit next to him. He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a plastic box, setting it down in front of you. When he opens the lid, you’re hit with the most beautiful smell. It’s something you’ve only smelled a few times, but never in your own house, though it makes you feel warm like coming home after a long day.

“Are those chocolate chip?” you gasp.

Klaus’s cheeks flush. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I went with my favorite. My mom helped me make them. They’re from scratch,” he says proudly.

You can feel the lump returning. “You didn’t have to make me cookies,” you say quietly.

“Sure I did! We didn’t have the right ingredients for a cake, and anyway, everyone likes chocolate chip cookies,” he says. “Don’t you?”

“I…” You swallow hard. “I don’t know. I’ve… never had them.”

His mouth drops open with a loud  _ pop! _ “You’ve  _ never _ had chocolate chip cookies? Ever?”

“My parents don’t let me have sweets,” you answer. “They say it will rot my teeth out and then no one will want to be my friend.”

“Well, that’s dumb,” he says with a snort. “Here, try it. They’re still warm!”

The cookie feels so soft and fragile in your hand, and you’re afraid it will break if you hold it too tightly. You know it’s just a cookie and it doesn’t matter if it breaks, but you feel like if you mess this up, even a little bit, it will ruin everything between you and Klaus.

As soon as your teeth sink into the warm, gooey, chocolatey goodness of the chocolate chip cookie, it’s like everything bad in the world just goes away. You don’t even realize you’ve closed your eyes until a low moan makes you open them, and then you realize the sound came from  _ you _ .

Klaus is grinning at you like a crazy person, and the excitement in his face makes you giggle. A few crumbs spray out of your mouth and you quickly cover your mouth with your hand, but then you look back at Klaus and you both giggle again, and then you’re laughing and not even caring that there’s chewed food in your open mouth, not caring about manners or bring proper, just enjoying being silly together.

You wrap yourselves in the blanket you’d brought and cuddle up together, talking and joking and eating cookies until your stomachs hurt. When the treats are gone, Klaus jumps up and tells you he has one more surprise.

He opens the mausoleum door a few inches, puts his fingers to his lips, and whistles so loudly you cover your ears. You wait for a couple seconds, but nothing happens. Klaus frowns, his head tilted up to look at the drizzling sky.

“What are you doing?” you ask him.

He doesn't answer, just whistles again. You wait for another minute of silence. Finally, he turns back to you and sighs.

“I’m sorry, I thought I- AAAAH!”

A sudden bundle of black and white comes out of the sky and rustles around Klaus’s head, appearing to tangle in his curls. He shrieks and swats at the thing, stumbling in circles around the mausoleum. You’re too busy laughing to help him.

Finally, he manages to get it untangled and when the craziness is over, there’s a large black and white bird sitting on his shoulder. It looks at you, blinks, and tilts its head like it’s deciding whether or not you’re friendly.

“What’s… that?” you ask.

Klaus pets the bird’s head proudly. “This is Bruce! She’s your other birthday present.”

“Bruce?” you reply.

“What? Girls can be named Bruce.” He strokes a finger over Bruce’s back, and she ruffles her wings at him. “‘Sides, I thought it was kinda cool. Like Bruce Willis?” You look at him blankly. “ _ Sixth Sense _ ? ‘I see dead people’? Nothing?”

“I wasn’t allowed to watch it,” you mumble.

You’re ready for him to make fun of you, but instead he just shrugs. “When we’re grown-up enough to go to the movies, we can go watch it together. Then you’ll get it,” he says.

Your heart feels a little bit warmer when he talks about the future like that.

“Anyway, Bruce isn’t a pigeon,” he says, “but she is trained to carry stuff. I rescued her from my dad’s lab. She can carry messages between our houses so we can talk!”

Your face splits into the biggest smile you’ve had in a long time. “Even when we can’t hang out, I can still send you messages!” you cry. “It’ll be like we’re always together!”

“Exactly.” His face is so bright, you feel like you’re looking directly into the sun.

You spend the rest of your visit learning the special whistle to call Bruce to you. She’ll stay at the Umbrella Academy where Klaus has made a nesting spot for her, but your homes are so close together that she’ll be able to hear you. You practice having her carry things back and forth until you hear the sound of Hargreeves’ limo pulling up outside the cemetery.

Klaus quickly shovels his things back into his bag, and you stuff the blanket inside your raincoat. Before you leave, he reaches out to give you a fist bump. You return it, and when your hands touch, he pulls you into a hug.

“Happy birthday,” he whispers into your ear.

He fills you with so much joy and pure happiness, you feel like you might explode. Before he can pull away, your head moves like you have no control over it and you press your lips to his cheek in a quick peck. It’s something you’ve seen mothers on TV do before, though you can’t remember a time when your own mother kissed you on the cheek. It feels right.

Klaus’s face turns a burning pink, and as he steps toward the door he tries to give you awkward finger-guns that end with him tripping over the threshold. You hide your giggle behind your hand as he jumps back to his feet and gives you one last bright, beautiful smile before running off to meet his father.

As you’re walking home, the blanket still warm with his body heat against your stomach, you feel very, very glad to have Klaus as a best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Chapter title from The World Is Ugly by My Chemical Romance.


	3. Think Happy Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I think I'll blow my brains against the ceiling  
>  And as the fragments of my skull begin to fall,  
> Fall on your tongue like pixie dust,  
> Just think happy thoughts and we'll fly home.  
> We'll fly home,  
> You and I,  
> We'll fly home. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I can't believe I haven't updated this fic in four and a half months. I know this is always my excuse but things are just really busy! I started a new job in July and then grad school in October and the holidays have just been kicking my ass. But now I finally have the time and drive to write, and it feels so good to upload again! I wrote the first 1000 or so words over three months, then the rest I just crammed into the last couple hours. Beware, angst and cuteness ahoy!

Something funny that they don’t tell you about turning thirteen, is that eventually you start to see love everywhere. It’s in every advertisement, every novel and film, on the streets in fancy restaurants and back alleys and behind the bleachers after school. Being thirteen means becoming viscerally aware of how deeply-rooted the concept of romantic love is to the fabric of, well, everything. Suddenly all anyone can talk about is love, and after a while, no matter what your future goals might have been before entering eighth grade, you start to think that maybe you should make room in those goals for love, too.

You haven’t ever really thought about the future. You guess you’d always assumed you would end up like your parents, playing house in a frilly apron or reading the newspaper in cold detachment. If they were characters in a book, your English teacher would say that the symbolism was “overly conspicuous”. Both a caricature of the American dream and a criticism of the traditional nuclear family. Gray and washed-out like the sitcoms you’re not allowed to watch.

A fulfilling career? Out of the question. You’ll go to whatever college your parents deign to pay for, study whatever will get you the most money, and file your brain against a nine-to-five until it’s ground down to dust. You’ll marry well (but not for love) and have children (who will grow to resent you) and you will pray that they don’t get stuck in the endless cycle of white picket fences and reasonably priced minivans.

But maybe...

If someone had asked you a few years ago if you had thought this possible, that someone could love you, you would have laughed in their face (and then promptly broken down in tears). But it’s different now, now that you know what it’s like to be loved. Not in the way that parents love children, or a grown-up loves their spouse, but in the way that one soul simply _blends_ with another. You were a drab, fading violet smear, and Klaus was an orange sunset, and the place where you come together is the most remarkable shade of pink.

He talks to you every night. If he isn’t training at the mausoleum, he always makes sure to send you something via Bruce- a funny joke he’d heard or a riddle for you to solve, sometimes a small trinket. Once he sent you a beautiful copper key that didn’t fit any locks; another time, he sent you a shard of delicately painted porcelain from a flower vase that he’d accidentally broken.

You wait for him at the mausoleum every day after school. You’re too old to be playing in cemeteries by yourself, but you like to spend the time reading or doing homework and enjoying the peacefulness of nature. It’s quiet out there among the dead. Your house is quiet too, but in a different way, an oppressive way, like if you speak too high above a whisper then everything will break. The quiet of the cemetery is gentle, like the easy silence between old friends, or a hug from your favorite person.

Klaus trains in the mausoleum at least three times a week. He’s usually very good about letting you know when he won’t be there, but on the few times that he forgets or doesn’t have time to send a note, he always makes sure to bring you something extra special next time. The Umbrella Academy does most of their work close to the city, but sometimes they have to travel for missions and Klaus can be gone for weeks. Those are the worst times, with nothing to look forward to but the lonely walk back to your empty house.

He always does his best to make it up to you when he gets back, bringing you gifts from afar. He’s given you evil eye pendants from Athens, a brightly colored sari from Mumbai, a music box from Galway, a cheesesteak restaurant menu from Philadelphia. You keep all of them in a cardboard box underneath your bed. It’s not like your parents have ever outright forbidden you from going to the cemetery or spending time with Klaus (not that they’d ever bothered to ask where you go after school), but you have a feeling that they would not be happy if they knew how you’d been spending your afternoons. Every addition to your box feels like another treasure you get to tuck away among your nest of secrets.

It’s Valentine’s Day, and the hallways of your school are plastered with paper hearts. In morning block, the teacher makes everyone go around the room and hand out valentines. Your parents think the holiday is just a waste of money, so you have nothing to give out. You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom so you don’t have to face the humiliation of being the only person in the class who didn’t bring any valentines. When you get back just before the bell rings, there are no cards waiting on your desk.

As hard as you try to avoid it, love is on your mind. There’s something strange buzzing at the back of your head, golden-bright like a sparkler, or a hope. You’re waiting. For what? You’ve never even had a friend at this school, let alone a secret admirer. There is no way someone could like you in… _that way_.

But the fact still stands that you are thirteen years old, and it is Valentine’s Day, and everyone but you is loved and in love, and even though you’ll never admit it you are just dying to know what that is like.

Part of you, some silly, distant part, had hoped that you would wake to Bruce tapping at your window with a romantic note from Klaus clutched in her beak. Stupid-

No, not stupid. He’s been your only friend for four years, and even though he’s never shown any romantic feelings toward you it isn’t stupid to think that he would send you something nice on Valentine’s Day. That’s something you’ve been working on, remembering that there is someone in the world who really does love you (as a friend) and it’s not selfish to want to feel loved. Klaus is helping you understand that. He’s been helping you a lot with… well, everything.

Guilt. That’s the big one that you have been working on. It’s difficult not to feel guilty for wanting to be treated like a human being. Little by little, he’s been helping you realize that it’s alright to take up space, that you aren’t a burden and he helps you because he cares about you. Slowly, terrifically slowly, you’ve been chipping away at the wall of ice you’ve built to protect yourself, and you know you’re going to have to do a lot of it on your own but he at least handed you the chisel.

Even though it’s a Thursday, you have a feeling that the weekend is going to arrive early. Massive cinder block clouds have been hovering in the sky all day, and when the final bell rings and you exit out into the chilly winter afternoon, tiny flurries of snowflakes are beginning to swirl through the air. With any luck, the storm will grow worse and school will be canceled tomorrow.

Your heart leaps at the thought of an extra day off. A whole day to spend with Klaus! You’re sure he could somehow trick his dad into thinking he’s doing some extra training, Ben would cover for him and the two of you could spend the whole day together, no responsibilities, just being thirteen in the snow.

In your heart, you know that it would never happen, and even if Klaus somehow could sneak away you would never ask him to risk it. But still. It’s fun to fantasize.

At the very least, you may be able to spend a couple hours with him in the mausoleum before you have to go home. He hasn’t been out to train in a few days so you’re sure that his dad will make him go today. There is a little extra energy in your feet as you make the familiar journey to the cemetery.

You reach it in minutes and plop down on the low stone wall surrounding the cemetery. The cold soaks through your jeans and right down to your bones, but you’re warmed by the thought of seeing Klaus. You wish you could wait in the shelter of the mausoleum, but only Reginald has the key and you don’t feel like getting arrested for breaking and entering today.

While you wait, you take out a book you’ve been working on. _Peter Pan_ by J.M. Barrie. Ben had recommended it via Klaus, who’d told his brother how bored you were with the books they made you read for language arts class. Ben knows more about books than anyone you know. You’ve haven’t met him yet, but he often gives Klaus messages to pass to you, suggestions on new books or interesting questions about life. 

You’d forgotten your gloves at home this morning and after a few minutes your fingers are nearly too cold to turn the pages. You hold the book in one hand and tuck the other in your coat, alternating hands with each page. The story is much different than the Disney movie you’d grown up with, and now that you’re a bit older you can better appreciate the story’s message. In a lot of ways you can relate to the Lost Boys. For so much of your life you had wandered alone without even the warmth of a parent to comfort you, until Klaus swooped out of the night and taught you how to fly. It’s easy to think happy thoughts when he’s around. 

The tolling of the city clock jerks you back to reality. You glance up and realize that the sky has darkened to the color of a deep bruise. Puffs of snow flurries swirl in the light of the street lamps and land on the cement like a carpet of lace. Your bones are stiff with cold. You count the chimes of the clock: you’ve been sitting here for almost three hours.

You stuff the book into your backpack, fighting back the tears threatening to spill out. Three hours and no sign of Klaus, not even a note. It wouldn’t be the first time this has happened, but with the air full of love and loneliness stinging your heart all day, you had hoped that he would do- something. Nothing huge, but _something_ to show that he cares about you and your friendship is more than a passing distraction for him.

The layer of snow muffles your footsteps as you march home. Part of you wishes you could hear the satisfying _clunk-clunk-clunk_ of your boots on the cement, like you can stomp your feelings into the pavement.

The house is dark when you arrive home. You open the door and step into the front hall, hurriedly locking the chill behind you. It’s not exactly warm, but there is a distinct lack of cold that fools your body into thinking it’s warm. You stand in the middle of the foyer, dripping melted snow into the pristine floorboards, feeling very, very alone.

Moonlight glances off the metal cylinders and delicate seashells strung from the hand-blown glass hoop. You poke one of the shells and it clacks against its friends, high-pitched notes floating through your bedroom. Klaus had gotten you the windchimes while on a mission in Manitoba. The shells were picked straight off the beach, in the chilly gray beaches of northern Canada. You’ve never been to a proper beach. The city is surrounded by water, but its shores are all steel platforms and asphalt highways, nowhere to lay down your towel and enjoy the sun. You press your nose to the shells and pretend you can smell the salt clinging to them.

You’ve never left the city, and as far as you know, neither have your parents. If they have been to other places, they never talk about it. Everything you could possibly need is right here on your little circle of urban sprawl.

You close your eyes and pretend it is the cold Manitoba breeze making your windchimes sing.

If you went somewhere else, you would live on a boat. That way you could tour the whole world and never have to be anchored in one place if you didn’t want to be. You can almost feel the wind sweeping through your hair, smell the heavy salt-and-fish scent of the water, hear the squawk of seagulls wheeling overhead…

The squawking grows louder, followed by a sharp _clunk!_ It makes your eyes snap open, and you are staring into two tiny, black ones glaring through your window. You scream and drop the windchimes which fall in a noisy clatter to the floor, making you jump. Your heart is pounding with surprise as well as terror at the knowledge that your parents are about to burst into your room- but then you remember that they’re not home, and your fear eases a bit.

Bruce pecks the window again and gives you a noisy yelp. Now that your heart is no longer thudding out of your chest, you roll your eyes and open the window for her. She hops onto the sill and extends a leg, to which is tied a small rolled-up piece of paper. You take it and unroll the message.

_U up?_

You glance at Bruce, who blinks at you as if to say _I’m just the messenger_.

Shooing her aside, you stick your head out the window and glance around. There is a small woodshed beneath your bedroom that provides a convenient platform for sneaking out, if you can brave the eight-foot drop. It also makes sneaking back in rather challenging. That doesn’t seem to matter to the boy currently standing on the shed roof, though.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,” he sing-songs.

You roll your eyes again. “Klaus,” you hiss, “what are you doing here?”

He reaches toward you with a fingerless-gloved hand. “Let me in and I’ll tell you.”

An unexpected flush colors your cheeks and you duck back into your bedroom. Klaus is here, outside your house, on Valentine’s Day, to spend time with you. Your heartbeat speeds up again, but now for an entirely different reason.

There still remains the issue of how to get him through the window. You don’t have any rope, and you definitely can’t reach that far yourself. Your eyes fall on the unmade bed. Maybe if you twist the sheets…

And then you remember.

You stick your head back through the window. Klaus’s hands are shoved in his armpits for warmth and his dark brown curls are covered in a light dusting of snow.

“My parents aren’t home. Just use the front door,” you call down.

He sticks his tongue out in a pout. “You’re no fun,” he grumbles as he clambers down from the shed.

He doesn’t hear your giggle as you slam the window closed and sprint out of your room and down the stairs. When you open the door, he’s leaning against the frame with his back to you, admiring the gentle snowfall against the empty street. At the sound of the door opening, he glances over his shoulder and gives you a small smile.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he hums.

You roll your eyes and slug his shoulder. “Get in here, you idiot. It’s freezing outside.”

He ducks past you into the foyer and stomps his boots on the carpet to shake off the snow. His clothes are covered in snowflakes that melt quickly in the sudden warmth.

It occurs to you that he’s never been to your house, and you are suddenly very self-conscious that you have no idea how to play host. You try to remember what adults on TV do when they have company.

“C-can I take your coat?” you offer, holding out a hand.

He lifts an eyebrow in confusion, then breaks into a grin. “You’re funny,” he says. He grabs your hand and tugs you toward the staircase. “C’mon, I want to see your room.”

“I’m not allowed to have boys in my room when my parents aren’t home,” you protest.

He pauses on the landing and turns to wink at you. “Then it’s a good thing your parents won’t find out.”

He drags you up the rest of the stairs and into the room that you point out is yours. As soon as he steps over the threshold he lets go of your hand, which sends a sad little ping through your chest, though you try not to think about it. You don’t know when your parents will be home, but you close the door behind you just to be safe.

Klaus flops onto your bed with a happy sigh. “Your house is so nice and quiet,” he says. “I can hardly think with all the noisy people in my place.”

You sit on an armchair across from the bed. “With such a big mansion, I would think it would be pretty quiet,” you say.

He makes a face. “They always find a way to ruin it.”

For a moment his face looks incredibly sad in the dim lamplight, but then he sits up and bounces on the mattress. “So, whatcha wanna do?”

“Um…” You can feel yourself starting to withdraw at the newness of the situation. “I don’t know. Most of the time I like to read, or do homework…”

“ _Homework_ ?” He says it the same way most people say _cockroach infestation_. “What, you don’t have any toys or videos? What do you and your friends do for fun?”

“I don’t-” You pause and clear your throat. “I don’t have any other friends.”

He looks at you and his expression is gentle, but not sad or pitying. He looks… well, he looks almost… happy? You can’t really tell, though, because in the next moment he’s rolling over to examine the books on your bedside table.

“ _Peter Pan_? A classic! It’s one of Ben’s favorite books,” he chirps.

You roll your eyes. “I know. Ben lent it to me.”

“Are you sure? I think I would have remembered that.”

You can’t tell if he’s joking. It was only a couple of weeks ago; how could he forget something that easily? You remember every detail of your afternoons with him.

Klaus lets out a sudden gasp. For a moment you’re afraid he’s hurt himself, until you realize that he’s spotted your box of treasures. You jump out of your seat, halfway to trying to stop him, but you freeze when you see the awe in his shining eyes.

He rolls off the bed and kneels beside the box, fingers ghosting over the miscellany inside. Slowly, you round the bed and lower yourself to the floor across from him, watching the myriad of emotion passing over his face. He picks up the windchime you’d dropped and holds it like a bird with a broken wing. A tear slides over his cheek and lands on one of the delicate pink shells.

You want to reach for him, but something holds you back. It’s like there’s a barrier there, a wall separating childhood friendship from something further, more grown-up, and you don’t have the strength to break through.

Klaus places the windchimes in the box. “You kept them,” he says, his voice rough with tears.

“Of course I did. I keep everything you give me,” you reply.

He looks up at you and his eyes are shiny with unshed tears. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but all that comes out is a strangled sob. Then his shoulders hunch and he falls into himself, shaking, great, heavy cries coming out around tears and snot.

Without thinking, you shove the box aside and scooch across the floor until you are close enough to place an arm around Klaus’s shoulders. He immediately turns and buries his head in your neck, wrapping his arms around your middle and squeezing you close. For a moment you freeze, caught between sympathy and discomfort at how close he is to you, but then you give in and wrap him in a tight hug. 

It is a long time before he stops crying enough to sit up and breathe normally. Tears are still trickling over his cheeks and his skin is splotched red, but he doesn’t turn away from you. Actually, he clings to you, his arms still wrapped loosely around your waist and head leaning against your shoulder. You stroke your fingers up and down his back like you’ve seen parents do on TV, and he lets out a shaky sigh.

After a long silence, he mumbles, “It’s all my fault.”

You nuzzle the top of his head. His shampoo smells like coconut. “What’s your fault?” you whisper. 

More silence. Finally, he sits up and scooches a few inches away. You are flooded with cold in the sudden absence of his body heat.

“Five left,” he says.

It takes a few moments for you to understand what he’s saying. “Your brother ran away?” you ask.

He nods gloomily. He draws his knees up and hugs them to his chest, propping his chin on top of them. “He and Sir- Dad- had a huge argument about Five using his powers to time travel, and then he disappeared. We haven’t been able to find him anywhere.”

The implication sits heavy between you. With Reginald Hargreeves’ resources, finding a teenager with superpowers in this city- anywhere in the world, really- shouldn’t be an issue. If even he doesn’t know where Five is, then the only other possibility is… too horrible to imagine.

“He could be dead. Or worse, stuck somewhere in time with no way to get back to us,” Klaus says. Fresh tears start to fall. “H-he could be in troub-ble, w-with no one to he-help him, and, and we- we let him down.” He lets out a pained shriek and buries his face in his knees.

You place a comforting hand on his ankle. “That’s horrible,” you say sympathetically. “But how is any of it your fault?”

He looks up at you and sniffs loudly, wiping at his eyes with his coat sleeve. “Be-because…” he mumbles, “I dr-drove him away. I was…” He coughs wetly. “I was use-use-less. I f-failed him. I failed ev-eryone.”

His face hardens and he grits his teeth so hard you can see the muscles in his neck clenching. His face is a scary bright red. He forces himself to speak through the tremors rattling his body. “We were on a mission. In an abandoned hospital. There were s-so many of them. Ghosts. Screaming at me, b-begging me to help th-them. So many awf-ul things happened there.” He takes a deep breath. “I c-couldn’t take it. I ran. I… I abandoned them.”

“You ran from the mission?” you ask.

He nods tightly, eyes fixed on the floor. “I was so scared. I ran, but they ch-chased me… The bad guys got away because I w-was too chicken to sti-ck around.” He gasps in a choked breath. “My family was so mad at me. Dad…” He shudders. “Five was so d-disappointed. He could see what a sc-screw up I am. Th-that’s why he left.”

Klaus kicks the corner of the treasure box with the toe of his boot. “He’s a better superhero than a-all of us combined.”

Your heart aches for him. He’s always felt like his power was the most useless of the group, which you can relate to, though you can’t possibly understand how much worse it must be with the emaciated corpses that follow him around everywhere. The things he’s seen-

You look at his face backlit by snowy moonlight and the dim yellow glow of your lamp, and he looks so much older than thirteen.

The thought barely has time to form before you’re acting on it. You gently cup Klaus’s chin in your hand, tilt his face toward yours, then cross the distance between you and press your lips to his.

In your mind you had imagined this would be some grand romantic gesture like in romance novels, but it’s more awkward than anything. Both your eyes are open, his red from crying, and his folded knees are digging into your chest. You’re not sure if or even how to use your tongue, so you just push your closed lips against his until you realize you need to breathe and sit back.

He stares at you, face flushed pink though not entirely from crying. You can feel heat rushing through you and you open your mouth to apologize, but you’re interrupted by the sound of gravel crunching beneath tires.

“Shoot! My parents are home,” you whisper, jumping to your feet.

He scrambles up and throws open the window. He pauses with one leg over the sill and glances back at you.

“Thanks,” he says, and for the first time all night his smile looks genuine.

You can’t help the smile that breaks across your face in return. You gently shove his shoulder and mumble an embarrassed, “Welcome.”

He starts to shimmy out the window, but suddenly straightens and his face lights up. “I almost forgot!” he cries. He jams his hand into his coat pocket and pulls out a something small and red, shoving it into your hand.

Before you can get a decent look at it, Klaus leans over and presses a kiss to your cheek. Heat blooms over your skin and your heart shudders to a stop. You turn to him, but he’s already wiggled through the open window.

You glance down at the object in your hand. It’s a small piece of red cardboard in the shape of a heart. On the front is a drawing of a ghost wearing a bow tie and holding a bouquet of roses. When you turn it over, Klaus’s spindly handwriting reads, _You’re drop dead gorgeous_. 

You stick your head out of the window. “Dork!” you shout at his retreating form.

He spins around to face you, and in the light of the moon reflecting off the newly fallen snow you see him blow you a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really pleased with how this turned out and I feel like my muse is actually flowing again. I can't guarantee that the next chapter will be up any time soon, but I do have the entire fic planned out in my notes so it's just a matter of writing the actual content. If you have any feedback, you can comment below or message me on Tumblr at humblepirate. I'm always open to constructive criticism! Thanks so much for reading and happy new year!!!
> 
> Chapter title is from Headfirst for Halos by My Chemical Romance.


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